Tomato Adventures
by Izu3039
Summary: Romano always had the worst temper, and he can't seem to handle his feelings for the happy-go-lucky Spaniard. Over time, other nations try to accept and understand him and even help him out a bit with his love life. Romano's POV. Other pairings included.
1. Chapter 1: Spain

**A/N:** I decided to start a non-oneshot. I don't know how much I can update this, but please read and review! And enjoy to the fullest! :D

Told first-person from Romano's POV, but may switch later on for... erm... side plots?

**Currently planned pairings:** Spamano/USUK/PruCan/GerIta (These are subject to change, and more will be added.)

**Rated T** for suggestive things and their bad mouths, but nothing hardcore.

**Genre:** Romance/Friendship

**Summary:** Romano always had the worst temper, and he can't seem to handle his feeling for the happy-go-lucky Spaniard. Over time, other nations try to accept and understand him and even help him out a bit with his love life.

**Disclaimer:** (aha, now I remember what I was missing from the first fanfics. I do not own Hetalia, nor the characters, only the fanfic.

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><p><strong><span>Chapter One: <span>**

I was furious. That damn tomato bastard was getting groped by the fucking shitty wine bastard and he doesn't even care. Wait, why do I care if he gets groped? I-It's, it's because that tomato bastard is going to lose his chastity! Not because I like him or anything! Wait, why would I care if he loses his chastity? It's not like I want to take it inste- OH GOD FUCKING NO. WHAT AM I THINKING.

Anyway, it's not my fault they decided to have a damn conversation out on my lawn, where I can get a full view of the tomato bastard's nice ass, I mean, their fucking discussions. But that leaves them vulnerable to gravity and my nice spot up here on the second floor for sniping.

Fumbling around my room with the French bastard in my line of sight outside, I threw a vase as I opened my window. Thankfully I hit my target accurately. The tomato bastard was good target practice it seems.

The albino potato bastard looked up and saw me. Cackling, he picked up a shard of the shattered vase and threw it back. At least the other potato bastard was fucking more polite. I ducked before I got knocked out cold like the wine bastard.

"Fucking wine bastard, you deserve more than a bruise on your face!" I yelled from the cover of the walls. Suddenly a rain of shards came flying through the open window.

" Kesesesese! The little Italian has the hots for Spain here, huh?" a nasal voice sounded out.

I felt my cheeks color. Damn, if I could look in a mirror I bet they were as red as a tomato. I picked up a chair and threw it outside, still under cover behind the damn window. I heard a screech and some chirping noises.

Bravely I decided to stand and scope out the scene. The damn potato bastard was knocked out as well, and the tomato bastard was looking up at me cheerfully waving.

"_Hola, mi enamorado! Te amo! Tú eres mi tomate pequeño_!" He was cut off by a pillow I threw. Damn, couldn't he shut up! The whole neighborhood could hear him!

Red faced I slumped back down beneath the walls. I was almost in tears.

Damn. I wish I were Feliciano. That damn brother of mine, he was always the cute and loveable one. And even better right now, I wish I had his or the burger bastard's stupidity. I wished I was stupid enough not to realize my fucking feelings for that tomato bastard.

Fuck my life. I end up falling for the most idiotic person possible.

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><p>After I tied down the potato bastard since he was uncontrollable and duct-taped his mouth shut to stop random "awesomes" from coming out of his fucking mouth, I took the wine bastard into a dark room, tied down as well. And the idiot tomato bastard was playing with a damn turtle nearby.<p>

"Ah, Romano, please reconsider this. You know my intentions were-"

Kick.

He winced. "-all for the cause of- "

Another kick. A punch was added for good measure.

The damn bastard grunted and then croaked out, "-_l' amour._"

I kicked his vital regions hard, and hoped that he would lose his balls for all I cared.

"FUCKING WINE BASTARD. I SWEAR THE NEXT TIME YOU FUCKING GROPE HIM IN MY SIGHTS YOU WON'T GET OUT OF THIS-"

The tomato bastard had pulled me off. "_Mi tomate_, please, I think France repent already, just st-"

"ALIVE. I'M GOING TO GET THE MAFIA TO HUNT YOUR DAMN GUTS-"

"-op Romano! Please! I'll give you a tomato!"

"DOWN AND THEN THEY'RE GOING TO TORTURE THE SHIT OUT OF YOU! FUCKING FUCKING WINE BASTARD!"

"_ROMANO_!" the normally calm Spain shouted. Surprised, I stopped struggling. "Please, stop already! You're going to kill France! I think he gets the message!"

I grumbled under my breath.

"But I thought that was cute of you! You were worried that the pervert would get me, right? It's okay, if Francey tried to rape me, he would end up on the bottom anyway since Boss Spain will-"

My face was damn red now, and I kicked Spain to shut him up. Blushing furiously, I backed up against a wall and yelled, "Quiet! Don't say it!"

France mumbled "I told you so, _l' amour_ is fresh in the air."

I shot a death glare through my embarrassment at him, and that shut the damn wine bastard up.

And the tomato bastard looked genuinely confused. "Ah, tomate, but I was complimenting you! Is that bad? Or are you jealous that I might have sex with-"

"SHUT UP TOMATO BASTARD!" I yelled. I ran forward to clamp my hand over his mouth and punch him.

On the way I swear the wine bastard tried his best to stick out his foot to send me flying. And even more, it worked.

I pulled a flying tackle hug similar to my brother's, but not with the same intention. Plus it was fucking accidental. I landed and something hard hit my lips.

I groaned and got up, cursing under my breath. As I wiped my mouth, I noticed there was some blood on my hand. And then that damn tomato bastard was rubbing his tooth.

"Owwie, Romano, it _hurts_! At least use more skill when kissing!"

There was silence, as all three of us took in what he had just said. France started to snigger from his chair, the tomato bastard widened his eyes, and my cheeks were burning so hot I swear the tea-bastard might even consider burning one of his fucking scones on my face.

In tears, I ran out the door after landing a punch on Spain.

Oh god, I am going to kill that damn wine bastard. Oh yes, he will suffer more than anyone has ever suffered in the past century. But first I need to sort out my problems. I just fucking kissed my unrequited love, and he might just be more oblivious than my idiot _fratello_ and the burger bastard.

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><p><strong>AN:** End chapter one. Yes, Romano is aware of his own feelings. Don't hate me for it. :(

"_Hola, mi enamorado! Te amo! Tú eres mi tomate pequeño_!"- Hi, my love! I love you! You are my little tomato!

I am sorry if this is wrong, I took Spanish for only a year. Non google translated.

Review, once again! :D Comment if anything need to be improved, i.e. if I should tone down the cussing (yes, I do realize I might have went overboard. I may reduce cussing later but I rather got into his character. xD I like talking from his point of view.)


	2. Chapter 2: Meeting America

**A/N:** Second chapter! :D Romano's POV. Beware, this chapter has an insane amount of cussing. I'm very sorry in advance. D: This chapter has USUK, so beware! Spoiler: America breaks down crying, so if you dislike emotional stuff, just go away already. Reviews are love!

**Currently**** planned**** pairings:** Spamano/USUK/PruCan/GerIta (These are subject to change, and more will be added.)

**Rated**** T** for suggestive things and their bad mouths, but nothing hardcore.

**Genre:** Romance/Friendship

**Summary:** Romano always had the worst temper, and he can't seem to handle his feeling for the happy-go-lucky Spaniard. Over time, other nations try to accept and understand him and even help him out a bit with his love life.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia.

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><p><strong>Chapter Two: Meeting America<strong>

I was too busy banging my head on a wall to pick up the phone. Outside my door was Veneziano knocking and asking me what was wrong, and there was a Spaniard hanging from a tree or gutter somewhere and knocking on my window.

I couldn't take it anymore. "FUCK OFF ALL OF YOU!" I yelled. The door knocking stopped and I heard Veneziano whimpering and giving out the occasional "ve."

Even the phone conveniently stopped. Too bad the persistent tomato bastard didn't.

I picked up the chair I threw and had to retrieve yesterday, and it took another trip through the trusty sniper's window. The damn bastard went down with a thud, and I resumed sulking and losing brain cells.

Dammit! The memory was still fresh on my lips. Suddenly I remembered how soft his lips were, until I yelled, not screamed, and hit my head some more. The blush was undeniably creeping over my face now. Fuck. And I can still taste my blood.

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><p>And I had no choice but to leave the house. The creepy tomato bastard was still outside my window, so I had no choice but to run out my door, hit Feliciano (yes, Veneziano's human name) and dash for my life hoping the bastard wouldn't find me.<p>

I don't know why I ran there. Maybe I wanted to contract his stupidity like it was a virus. I was desperately hoping it would work, but I had already given up since I was around _fratello_ for all those years and still haven't gone stupid.

Anyway, I found myself knocking at America's door, hoping the tomato bastard wouldn't figure out. I had to wait an insanely long amount of time, and almost considered leaving until the door suddenly swung open and someone pulled a Veneziano-style tackle. Except he was much, much, heavier than my little brother.

Taken aback by the force, I toppled over with the damn burger bastard on top of me, and boy did it hurt. I swore I was going to get the mafia to kill him after the wine bastard died.

"Iggy! You came!" he squealed excitedly.

"FUCK OFF BURGER BASTARD," I yelled in his ear.

He blinked a bit, and saw my face. Embarrassed, he pulled away. "Ah, sorry, I guess I thought you were someone else, haha…"

His voice trailed off. I thought he seemed disappointed, sad even. I was going to say something until he narrowed his eyes at me and asked, "South Italy? What are you doing here?"

I lost any compassion at all and spat. "Fucking burger bastard, I'm here for a nice _chat_."

He looked mock horrified. "Your damn mafia's trying to get a debt paid again and you're going after me now?"

I snorted and said, "Fuck off, that's not what I'm here for, stupid burger bastard."

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><p>After a long, long, debate on his front step which involved much cussing, he finally let me in.<p>

America had that genuinely sad look on his face again. A bit taken aback, I asked, "So the idiotic burger bastard actually has problems?"

He sighed, not even bothering to argue with me. "Fuck yes."

I was surprised. He didn't even once say anything about my bad temper. "So fucking bastard, tell me what's wrong."

The damn bastard still had a depressed look in his eye but he mouth turned upwards a tiny bit. "You're the one who came to me, shouldn't you spill first?"

I huffed with red cheeks. "Damn you, you go first, bastard." He took one look at me and giggled. "Shit, you look just like him when you- oh fuck."

Immediately interested, I leaned forward and smirked. "Look like who, dickhead?"

The normally obnoxiously loud nation quieted down and looked uncomfortable.

Elated with our current position, I prodded him some more in a singsong voice. "Burger bastard, spill the beans before I cram some of the tea bastard's scones in your mouth."

Something ignited in the American, and I found myself pushed against the back of the chair I was sitting on. The table had been toppled over, and he was standing up, face centimeters away from mine. The damn bastard put his hands on the shoulder of the chair, and now I was staring defiantly into his eyes.

"Don't. You. Dare. Insult. Iggy's. Cooking. Only I fucking can, shut up!" Burger bastard's eyes were radiating anger. Interested and with a smile still on my lips (though my brain was screaming to get out before I got seriously hurt), I sneered, "Oh, so tea-bastard's your problem. How nice. Don't tell me you fell for him and he reje-"

"FUCK! Damn you Italian fucktard, damn you. Just shut up!" This reply shocked me. I didn't expect him to actually release me and break down crying on the floor.

I don't know why, but for some reason this bastard crying got to my heart. Bending down, I lifted his chin and stared him straight into the eyes. "Bastard, if you don't tell me what happened right now, I'm going to get the mafia in all the world to immigrate to the United States and kill you."

Perhaps there was a little bit of comfort in those harsh words, since he broke a smile through his tears. Damn bastard. He owes me one now.

"Iggy, Iggy he-" A few stifled sobs.

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><p>AN: Oh dear. Cliffhanger. Next chapter will be pretty much all USUK, so sorry in advance if you don't like that pairing.

Reviews are appreciated! :D

Oh, and the next chapter will be up soon, very soon. Mainly since it was actually supposed to be in this chapter but it got long and practically double the size of the first chapter, so I cut it up into this chapter and the next.


	3. Chapter 3: His Anger, Our Love

**A/N:** I intended for this to be in the second chapter but it got way longer than the first chapter, so it got cut and put into the next chapter. Warning: Pure USUK here. Sorry. D: America's POV for first part.

**Currently**** planned**** pairings:** Spamano/USUK/PruCan/GerIta (These are subject to change, and more will be added.)

**Rated**** T** for suggestive things and their bad mouths, but nothing hardcore.

**Genre:** Romance/Friendship

**Summary:** Romano always had the worst temper, and he can't seem to handle his feeling for the happy-go-lucky Spaniard. Over time, other nations try to accept and understand him and even help him out a bit with his love life.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia.

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><p><strong>Chapter 3: His Anger, Our Love<strong>

(America's POV)

I walked into the old man's study room. He was busy signing his papers again, so I walked up and put my chin on his shoulder. England shrugged his shoulders and shook me off.

"America, go away. Every time you come in my work rate lowers."

I whined, "Aw, Iggy, let me stay a bit, please?" I even tried my trademark puppy eyes. It seemed to work, he got uncomfortable all of a sudden and just nodded.

It was still no fun. I paced around the room while he signed away at dusty old papers. I tried to annoy him a bit, or at least get some attention. "Iggy. Iggggggggyyyyyy. C'mon Iggy, just answer?"

He refused to look up and flipped through more papers.

I took out my music player and flipped through the songs. Suddenly I found the perfect one and pressed the play button. The volume was flipped to maximum, so I hoped he would hear it.

The machine started to play some strange music, then words came. "Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down, never gonna run around and de-"

"America. Turn that bloody thing off, I'm trying to work here," he said without even looking up.

I bit my lip and shut it off while it was playing "-sert you. Never gonna make you-"

He still refused to even look at me, so I started to call his name softly. "Iggy. Iggy. England. Igggggy. Artie. Arth-"

"America. Don't you dare say my human name." This time my whining had elicited a response, and he was glaring at me.

Satisfied the tiniest bit, I continued on. "Aw, Artie, you know you can call me Alfred."

"No way in bloody hell would I ever say that, wanker," he spoke, though the slight blush was there. "And my bloody name is Arthur, not Artie. At least get someone's name right."

I wanted to have more fun. "Okay, _Arthur_. Then if I call you _Arthur_ will you call me _Alfred_?"

I caught his eyes, but then he shifted them away. "Don't be ridiculous, America. Only countries close to each other would refer to the other with their human names."

Pouting a little at this, I thought of something else to rile him up a bit. "Artie, it is then. But it's okay, isn't it? We're close enough as it is, you used to be my guardian and older brother or something like that, so we're defi-"

"Shut up already git. And don't go around saying I'm close to you." I could hear something in his voice that wasn't there earlier. "That was two bloody centuries ago. Until you bloody decided to abandon me for what, for your idea of freedom!"

I don't know why those words stung badly. Did they have hate in them? I didn't want Iggy to hate me. I tried to say something but nothing would come out.

"And _America_, if I bloody hear you say my name again, I will never even talk to you," he declared. His cheeks were red, and for some reason his facial expression confused me the most. England was mad, yes. But something else was mixed in there.

"Dammit, get out already, bloody git! Don't make me hate you even more than I already do!" he shouted, and I swore his eyes were shining with tears.

That broke me. Never have I wanted England to hate me. All those times were all for the sake of my people, and he forgave me eventually, so he'll forgive me again, right? I couldn't even believe my own false comfort. He said he hated me, and hated me before this. He probably hated me ever since the revolution.

Damn, why couldn't I ever see through him? All these years he smiled, all because he wanted to spite me? It was too hard to believe. Sometimes he puts on a fake smile, but sometimes he smiles for real. I knew because I saw him really smile when I was still a colony.

So he hated me so much he wanted to rack up all the guilt inside me like now. That fact hurt even more than the guilt itself. As I ran outside without even looking back, I didn't even think twice about apologizing or trying to figure out more.

Did I hate him? It couldn't be, even after he said he hated me. It was something else I felt for him.

Shit, it takes loss for someone to find out whom they fucking love. And I had to learn it the hard way.

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><p>(Romano's POV)<p>

Now I was angry. Really angry. At who? The sniveling burger bastard telling his story in front of me. Now I didn't care if he was a world superpower, and I was only the lesser half representative of a small country, but I was pissed.

He's so fucking dense. I picked him up by the bomber jacket collar and roared in his face, "You fucking idiot! Damn you, you're the stupidest person I've ever met! Even goddamn Feliciano is fucking smarter!"

His glasses were crooked, and he stared dazedly at me, and probably didn't know who Feliciano was. Either way I continued yelling at him. "Do you even fucking know why tea-bastard turned you away? Do you?"

The damn bastard had the nerve to reply in monotone, "He hates me. Doesn't wanna see me anymore."

"Why you fucking-" I landed a punch on his face. He merely took the blow and refused to look me in the eye. "Damn coward." I dropped him, and he collapsed on the floor. He probably didn't expect what I did next.

I kicked him and put my foot on his chest, pinning him face up on the floor. The bastard didn't put up a fight nor struggle, just blankly stared as if trying to understand what I was doing.

"Idiot! Don't you dare run away from what I'm going to fucking say, bastard," I growled at him from above.

"Yes you're right, it's your fucking fault. Who was it that left the damn tea-bastard? It was you!" He winced at this. "But then he was shocked to find out you joined the damn world war when they needed your help. The fucking bastard didn't want you to get involved, he'd rather you never knew about the fucking responsibilities as a nation and stayed the innocent little colony you were!"

Bastard tried to open his mouth to say something at this but I pressed my foot down and he wheezed.

This felt good, venting out my frustrations. But what was I frustrated at? "I'm fucking telling you this because he fucking loves you!"

He blinked incredulously and said, "Me? Who loves me?"

Rage was taking me over. "Fucking bastard, the tea bastard England fucking loves you, America, the burger bastard! Fucking at least don't be an idiot and realize fucking when someone loves you! He just got fucking damn hurt when you left him and just fucking be glad he fucking loves you back, dumbass fucking burger bastard!" I finished my incredible rant peppered with "fucking" all over it.

Slowly, my breathing went back to normal as we waited for his idiot brain to take in everything I just yelled out to him.

"But-but he clearly stated-" he croaked out before I interrupted.

"Who fucking cares what he fucking says, bastard. It's what he's fucking thinking, idiot," I replied nonchalantly.

The damn bastard widened his eyes. Suddenly he got up and sped out of the house.

I was just the tiniest bit happy that his problem might be cleared up soon. I was also grateful for the fact I just vented out all my anger.

But I was fucking mad that the ungrateful burger bastard didn't even say thanks after I wasted all my breath helping him. He fucking owed me two now.

Since Spain probably won't look for me here, I decided to make myself at home in his fucking messy house. I cleared away some stuff on the dirty sofa and closed my eyes.

Bliss. How nice not to have a creepy tomato bastard stalking you. Wait, tomato bastard. Why was I running away from him again? Oh yeah. Fuck, I just remember I kissed him.

Prepare for round two of head bashing.

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><p><strong>AN:** Lol, poor Romano. Spain won't find him anytime soon. He just doesn't think that Romano would go to America of all people.

Reviews are love. :D

Next chapter should be America and Romano again, but roleflip. :3


	4. Chapter 4: From Burgers to Potatoes

**A/N:** I beg forgiveness for the long wait. Let's say real life and homework got in the way of fanfics.

Anyway, the quality kinda dropped too, but I hope you guys can still enjoy reading it. Reviews are appreciated as always!

Spoiler: America time ends, Romano goes to bail out of Spain's house to the awesomeness!

**Currently**** planned**** pairings:** Spamano/USUK/PruCan/GerIta (These are subject to change, and more will be added.)

**Rated**** T** for suggestive things and their bad mouths, but nothing hardcore.

**Genre:** Romance/Friendship

**Summary:** Romano always had the worst temper, and he can't seem to handle his feeling for the happy-go-lucky Spaniard. Over time, other nations try to accept and understand him and even help him out a bit with his love life.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia.

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><p><strong>Chapter 4: From Burgers to Potatoes<strong>

Though it was disgusting and messy, burger bastard's couch was damn comfortable. I seemed to have slept like a rock and the next thing I opened my eyes to was the damn burger bastard putting a fucking burger on my head.

"Fuck off," I mumbled as I threw the disgusting slop that he called food onto the floor. I looked up and saw his face was giddy with excitement. "So tea bastard and you made up?"

He nodded and grinned like a demented frog. Well, good for him. I slumped back down and buried my face into a greasy cushion. Ew, wait no, I quickly raised my head since the smell of oil was fucking terrible.

"Oh no you don't, pasta freak's brother. Your turn, bitch," he grinned.

Okay, I was mad. He managed to insult both me and _fratello_? Oh, he is going to pay. I snapped, "Fuck off, I helped you, you owe me one, so let me sleep, bastard."

He snorted. "Yo little Italian, if I can't fucking pay you back then I'm not a hero!"

"Fuck you, I'm not little, you're no hero, no thanks, bastard."

"I'll ship you 200 crates of tomatoes."

"Bribing won't help," I replied. Though the offer was tempting. Really tempting. It was only talking right? I mean… 200 fucking crates of tomatoes. There was a pause of about 5 seconds before I muttered "… fine. You owe me five more crates for every rotten tomato in there."

He had the nerve to chuckle, "Oh, they'll be carefully counted, maybe I'll throw in a few extra crates."

Fuuuuuuuuck. Damn this fatass bastard, he knows my weakness.

* * *

><p>"—and then the wine bastard tripped me and so I fucking faceplanted straight onto the damn tomato bastard's face." The lips part went unspoken but understood, apparently.<p>

He was giggling now.

"Burger bastard, you fucking owe me 500 crates now for laughing."

"Pfft, ahaha, sorry, ha—damn!—too funny, ahahaha! You actually like _Spain_ of all people!" he roared as he rocked back and forth while pounding the floor with his fists.

Blushing furiously, I taunted, "And what do you see in tea bastard?"

"Pfft. Everything, his big eyebrows, his grumpy atti-"

"Shut up bastard. Go burn yourself, ingrate."

The burger bastard turned around, cheeks still red from laughing. In between giggles, he managed to say, "Don't you feel a bit better? After letting it out."

I frowned. He was damn right. Shit, now I owe him? Wait, no, he owes me so it's just a returned favor. And when am I getting those 500 tomatoes?

"Ha. It's okay, I'll send those over as soon as my boss isn't looking."

Shit, I said that out loud?

"Yes, yes you did, crazy-in-love, head-over-heels for Spain Italian."

"Bastard, I officially hate you."

"Hm, what did you say? I'm afraid this time you kept it in your head."

And, unluckily for both of us, guess who decides to come barging in? Yes, you get a tomato. Spain actually bothered to come to America's house. And why is the door unlocked?

"Hola, America, have you seen little Roma-"

"Oh shit," I said. America was being clueless and grinned. And waved. While squishing next to me on the sofa. Which to tomato bastard looks just like cuddling (is that even a word? He keeps on saying he wants to cuddle me…). Anyway, by all means, America is now screwed. I made a beeline out the door, while inside the house I swear I hear splintering wood, screams, and curses.

Damn, the tomato bastard actually used his battle ax.

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><p>To say the least, when I showed up at his house (no, I did not want to see him, not at all, I just wanted to er… clean up his house? ), the tomato bastard was teary eyed. So he tackled me and I was sent to the pavement with him sprawled over me. Now, I say he is sexy but he is fucking heavy. I think I almost died from oxygen deprivation.<p>

"Fuck, off, tomato, now!" I managed to wheeze out!

"Oh. Sorry Romano!" he got up and lifted me potato sack style into his house. No, I did not take the chance to grope his ass, (I'm not fucking France!) my hand just accidentally slipped there from gravity.

Then his happy mode ended after the door shut. He started crying again, and I hate it when people cry, It's very unnerving. Especially if it's Veneziano or the tomato bastard crying. "Loooooviiiiii, why did you go to the idiot America's house?"

I looked away from those eyes. He was just trying to pull off a puppy face, and I was not going to get tricked so easily. "Stupid, you're the idiot, bastard. It's your fault anyway I had to leave." Realization hit. "Wait, what did you just call me?" I growled, not caring if I saw the puppy eyes.

"Aw, tell me why Lovi? Why, why, why, why—"

I punched the sucker in the face. "Fuck, didn't I tell you not to call me that!" I was blushing even more now. Trying not to get reeled in any more, I dashed out of the house. Now, I considered going to America's house (no, I wasn't going to go to check on him cause I was worried that Spain beheaded him) but I was scared he would have dragged the tea bastard and started something… very mind-scarring. Ohshitno too much graphic images! Damn, stupid bastard!

And I couldn't go back home, that would be the first place the tomato bastard would look. I mumbled under my breath the whole time as I ran towards a house. A very familiar house. Why did I always end up running away to the worst places possible?

At least I knew that idiot of a_ fratello_ would be there.

Damn. That's a bad thing though. Stupid potato bastard, I huffed.

* * *

><p>Upon reaching the door using my amazing running speed (hell no, it's not for running away form battles, dammit!) I rang the bell so many times. I didn't care if the potato bastard's ears broke or if he rung up an electricity bill or whatever, it's not my fucking house.<p>

When the door finally opened a creak (damn bastard was slow getting to the door) I pulled out a shotgun. "Potato bastard, let me in before I call the mafia to burn down you house."

The door slammed. "Wha—why the damn bastard…" I growled. Okay, now I was serious. I loaded the shotgun with a case (no I wasn't being nice! I just uh… forgot to load it earlier!) and fired straight into the door.

Thankfully, the door opened again. "Think I'm not serious bastard?" I glared.

Now that the door opened wide, I ran inside the house just in case the Spaniard happened to come across. The whole house smelled like potatoes, I don't know how Veneziano stood to be in there.

The potato bastard disappeared after I heard the door lock. Aha, so he fears me. He should dammit, it's not right when he keeps on kidnapping Veneziano.

I mumbled and clambered onto the nearest sofa to stay the night, since I did not want to face a crying tomato bastard. As I thumped down on something hard, it gave a yell and I got shoved off. Narrowing my eyes and readying my shotgun, I stared at the object on the couch.

Shit, as if one potato bastard wasn't bad enough, the albino one is here as well. I almost fired, until I saw the bastard's face. (No I'm not getting soft!) He was crying, with red eyes (I know he's albino, I meant his eyes were swollen and baggy and stuff) and sniffing with a box of tissues on the messy floor.

Damn, does everyone have fucking love problems? I sighed and put down the gun, staring at the comically large fountains of tears flowing down the bastard's face. It was a wonder how I didn't hear him earlier.

"Yo, potato bastard number two, what's your problem?" I sighed and sat down on a nearby unoccupied (hopefully) sofa.

He actually pouted. "Hey, bruder should be number two, I'm the awesomer and older one!"

I rolled my eyes and pinched my nose. Prussia might be a even bigger headache than America. "Fine, fucking potato bastard on, who's your crush, what did you do to offend him, did he say he hates you?" He stared at me with wide red eyes. "What, do I have something on my fucking face?" I snapped, feeling uncomfortable.

"Dammit, how did you know I liked someone? Mind reader or what?"

I rolled my eyes. "Yet another lovesick idiot. Came across one yesterday."

I guess he chose to ignore the idiot comment. "His name's Canada, or Mattie."

Scrunching my eyes, I asked, "Who?"

"He's Canada!"

"Wha—that's not a country, who?"

"I said Canada!"

"Shit, at least crush on someone who's real!"

"Dammit, he's real, he wears a red maple sweatshirt, is America's brother but a hundred times awesomer, makes fucking good pancakes, and is scary when exposed to hockey!"

I simply stared an said, "Who?"

He headdesked. "Well, whatever, just say I'm talking about a total stranger."

I then noticed something. "Wait, did you say burger bastard's brother?"

He nodded.

"The fatass actually has a brother?"

Nod.

"Is he fat as his brother?"

Shake head.

"A narcissist?"

Shake head.

"Damn, they're probably not then."

"They are! I know they're brothers!"

Suddenly I realized how off tangent we were getting in this conversation and I yelled, "Potato bastard, just get on with the sad story!"

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Okay, I know I said Spain wouldn't find them but I wanted to do Prussia already. So I lied. XD Anyway, reviews are appreciated! And thanks for the follows!

Next chapter is Prussia ranting about how cute Canada is and Romano not really paying attention. And in the background, I wonder what Germany and Italy are doing… (no smut though I promised xD so sorry)


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